Mudblood
by alyssialui
Summary: A short-story of a reflection of Draco's life and how he resists his ingrained beliefs. One-shot


_A/N: I don't know how to classify this story but I guess this is just Draco reflecting on his upbringing and his eventual change. __Read and Review. Check out my other fics. And I do not own Harry Potter._

_Submission for:_

**The Animal Challenge/Competition****: **_Buffalo:_ Life building. Write about a reformed Death Eater.

* * *

Mudblood. The word is spat out like poison, representative of the plague affecting the world and wizarding kind. This knowledge has been passed down through his family, as well as those of other purebloods, from generation to generation. From history, wizards always had a reason to hate muggles. Muggles behaved like animals, mindless creatures with basic needs. When animals are confused and scared, they lash out, they aim to harm, kill and destroy. Muggles arrested and killed many witches and wizards in their time. Few were lucky to escape the clutches of muggles before being stabbed, burnt or drowned. With the advent of their more advanced weapons, it was even harder to escape death. The speed of a bullet was faster than the speed of a spell. Wizards were forced into hiding, as if ashamed of their gift and their powers. This would soon turn into a deep hatred for their race.

Mudblood. The word is shouted throughout the house, shaking it to its very core. The portraits of his ancestors join in with his father, the head of household, damning the every last one of them to hell. Mudbloods are a blemish on society - muggles who some how were given the grace of magic. By God's cruel joke, they are promoted to a different rank. The idea makes him sick. They were undeserving of such power. However, the muggles see all wizards and witches are evil, regardless of blood. All are incriminated as one. If they were also killed by their muggle brethren, then so be it. They had no place anywhere, wizard or muggle alike.

Mudblood. The work drips icily off the young boy's lips like melting snow. He has heard it all his life, he knows the scorn associated with it but has a vague idea of its history. In saying it, he too joins the prestige of his household. He has joined the long line of purebloods in their hatred against their population. He is just like his father, as he always wanted to be.

Mudblood. The word is directed at all those who oppose him, whether they are actually impure or not, anyone deemed unworthy before him. He however loves to call a particular witch this horrid name, to see her crumble and cry. She will carry the burden of her kind, for being something she had no choice in being. Though she may not understand why, she will understand that she is not of here, she does not belong here.

Mudblood. The word is whispered throughout his mind. It haunts him like a forgotten lyric to song he used to love. It has lost its meaning or maybe he just doesn't believe it anymore. He looks at the shaking form at his feet. Its blood pools underneath, impure but red just like his. He has seen his blood before; he knows this is true. He is no different than the body before him, same in flesh and blood. He has also been in the man's position as well, at the mercy of the whims of a murderer and torturer. He now knows that blood would save neither of them.

Mudblood. The word makes its way off his lips in tremors. He is trying to be his old self but that person has died long ago. The belief to eradicate all those beneath him is cracked. He has matured, he has changed. He has seen things he wished he hadn't that replay in his mind every night during his sleep. He has been forced to grow up and forced to continue down this horrid path. The road has been paved for him and he drags his feet among the rocks. He wants to get out but he can't.

Mudblood. The word is a distant memory. Things are different now. The shackles put on by demented leaders have been broken, the leader himself gone from this life. He has taken with him his most avid followers who had fought alongside til the death. But not him. He had been saved, he had been redeemed. He broke out as soon as he had the opportunity. Now he can breathe the fresh air, see all sights anew and he is happy. He can truly say he is happy. As he stands here on the platform, seeing his son off on his first year to the magical place he once called his second home, he is filled with nostalgia and contentment. He looks across and sees people who were once his enemy. He greets them amicably, though he knows their relationship is still rocky. But that horrid word never crosses his mind again. That word and that person no longer exist.


End file.
